It’s not that numbers lie, it’s that they don’t tell the whole truth. The Humane Society of the US estimates that animal shelters care for 6–8 million dogs and cats a year and euthanize (care for?) 3–4 million of them.

With over 300 million people in the US, you would think that if only 1 out of every 37.5 people could take care of one cat or dog we’d solve the problem. As you can see on almost any outing in any city in the US, there’s not 1 in 37.5 people out there who cares.

The real hell of it is that some dogs and cats in the shelter don’t get the 1 in 37.5 chance, or even the 1 in a 100 chance. For Red Zone Dogs (more on them in a minute), they don’t have any chance.

Unless, of course, they meet someone like Carla Naden at Animal Synergy.  She specializes in Red Zone Dogs, and if you’ve ever wanted to meet a real life honest-to-God shit-kicking lion-hearted Saint, look her up.

Before we get into Red Zone Dogs and shelters and the time & money & effort involved, let me start at the beginning, and tell you about one dog who did meet Carla. Let me tell you about Marvel.

Marvel is a 15-ish lb border terrier mix who has all the qualities you might want in a pet; small, loving, un-pushy, well behaved, house trained, playful, and not over-the-top active. He’s so sweet it’s almost unbearable, and he has the endearing quality of plopping down for a nap with his hind legs splayed out just behind your chair any time you sit down.

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If you lay down on the floor and get on his level he becomes playful, and he so revels in human touch that it’s difficult to not continually deliver that behavior too often in short supply; the back & belly rub.

Marvel came potty trained, he’s quiet (our ACD Birdie is working on teaching him to develop that extraordinarily piercing bark so easily achievable by cattle dogs), and he seems so overwhelmed by the positive change in his situation that he is willing to put up with anything that comes along.

He sits or lays down in the back of the truck cab, doesn’t push himself onto your lap, doesn’t beg for table scraps, sleeps quietly in his crate without whining, and is still figuring out how to eat the raw food we so zealously feed all dogs who end up in our care.

Raw meat does not melt with a gentle lick, it requires the use of those tools that evolution has carefully designed over millennia and bestowed upon all dogs; sharp teeth, strong jaws, and an enthusiastic desire to scythe, crunch, and swallow your way through a carcass.  Marvel is beginning to learn to use those tools.

Marvel is between 1 and 2 years old and was apparently abandoned by his last owners. When the shelter got him he would cower and growl at anyone who came near him, making him a Red Zone Dog.

The fact that he was a “Red Zone Dog” is one of those pieces of information that becomes more shocking the more you think about it.

First, what is a “Red Zone Dog” (RZD)?

Red Zone Dogs are those dogs who have been deemed by a shelter as non-adoptable. Usually behavior related but sometimes due to age or medical conditions, RZDs will growl at strangers, not allow anyone to touch them, display “whale eye” and generally behave like the frightened animals they are.

Red Zone Dogs can also be dogs too old (imagine abandoning a dog you’ve had for 15 years!) or who cost too much to keep alive (sorry Buster, instead of taking responsibility and getting you to a vet who can at least put you to sleep in my arms, we’re dropping you off at the pound.)

Red Zone Dogs are housed in the back of a shelter; you can’t see them unless you are a part of the shelter system (employee or volunteer.) RZDs usually don’t last more than a week or two at shelters. With so many dogs up at the front who don’t get adopted due to the sheer numbers, there is no hope for an RZD in the back.

Think about that.      No.     Fucking. Hope.

It’s a powerful indicator of the depravity in our society; we allow creatures in our midst to live with no hope.

So Marvel, a small and loveable dog, was so frightened that he signed his own death warrant without anyone explaining it to him, and it was only through dumb luck and the efforts of a few special and caring people that he made it out of the shelter system alive.

Carla Naden from Animal Synergy (a non-profit devoted to finding and re-homing special needs & geriatric dogs who have been abandoned by their owners) heard about Marvel through her work with the shelter system in San Diego.

She spent 40 minutes sitting with him in his cage, (he was “Tee the Terrier” at the time) letting him know through body language, our best form of communication with dogs, that she was not a threat and that he was safe when she was around.

Using the twin gifts of love and time, within less than an hour Carla moved Marvel from cowering & growling in fear to letting Carla pet him.

Less than an hour.  Not a month.  Not a week.  Not even a day.  Only the same time, in fact, than the average American spends daily on Facebook: 40 minutes.

If, like me, you experience sorrow that a dog like Marvel only needed 40 minutes to be saved from a certain and needled death, if, like me, you are indignant about this wickedness in our midst, if you feel, like I do, that it is not society’s fault that these animals are killed but our own, then do something.

What can you do?  Devote 4 days of Facebook time (that’s 160 minutes or 2 hours and 40 minutes) a month to helping these animals.

Work with kennel enrichment programs, walk a shelter dog, foster a shelter dog, donate not just your money or your “stuff”, but that far more precious commodity, your time.

What will you get for this time?  Why, you’ll have the opportunity to participate in a monumental life change.  You’ll live the experience of rescuing from the very jaws of death an animal that had no hope left.  You don’t have to be a soldier or a cop or a fireman to be a hero, you just have to be willing to give a little time and a lot of love.

Perhaps, with your forty minutes you will not worry so much about the “get” but will relish in the “give”.

As it will for you, this monumental life change for Marvel carried over to us, bringing into our lives a dog who went in one day from no hope to the almost certainty of a long and happy life full of love, caring, and happiness.

If you’re looking for a dog who is small, sweet, incredibly loving, and who will fundamentally change you (as all dogs can), please think about bringing a Marvel into your life.

****

What happened to Marvel in the end?  We started out as his foster family and, as so often happens, became his forever home.  He still lives with us and will to the end of his days.  He’s learned to bark like mad at the postman, defend our homestead from the gardener, and he’s slowly learning that humans aren’t as bad as his first batch.

Let’s start off with facts & numbers; those are the first things most humans want to know in order to understand an event.

This was my second attempt at the Leadville Trail 100, and I didn’t finish. I missed the time cutoff at mile 60 by 2 minutes.

Leadville is a 100 mile race run at elevation, the lowest point is 9,200 ft and the highest (Hope Pass) is 12,600 feet above sea level. It’s an “out and back” course, so you run 50 miles out then turn around and come back. This year 690 people started the race and about 300 finished. You have 30 hours to finish it. It starts at 4 a.m. on Saturday morning, and finishes at 10 a.m. on Sunday. If you finish in under 30 hours, you get a nice silver belt buckle. If you finish in under 25 hours you get a big gold belt buckle. The winners come in around 18 hours.

Ok, those are the numbers. As I started checking my messages this morning after waking up, I saw a bunch of people who were really fired up for me throughout the race. Thank you so much for your support and interest.

At this point (the morning after), the most common thing I’m hearing is along the lines of “Hey, sorry you didn’t make it, you must be super bummed.” Again, thank you so much for your support, but I’m not bummed, I’m stoked, and here’s why:

Leadville is a test. On the one side, it’s a numbers test; can you finish in the allotted time period? This year (and last year) I didn’t.

Running Leadville involves another test, and passing or failing that has nothing to do with the numbers. That test has two parts: Did you lay it all out there? and Did you quit?

Those happy few of you who read my blog know me, so you’ll understand when I say that as a young man I was pretty sure I was a tough motherfucker. Still, being tough in your early twenties is no guarantee that you remain tough the rest of your life.

I’m not going to debate the merits of “toughness”, I believe it’s important and part of being a man. I am going to say that this time, running Leadville for me was a validation that I will lay it all out there every time and I will not quit. I validated (this was not a known for me) that when I’m faced with a decision regarding whether or not I should incur & endure physical pain in order to attempt a goal, no matter how badly I hurt, I will go for it.

You may think, “Well Nik, I knew that about you, you’ve always been…blah blah blah.” While you may have a picture in your head of who I am, I don’t have the same confidence in that vision, and it requires consistent self testing for me to know what I’m capable. of. Validating that idea of still “having what it takes” was the important part of the race. That I didn’t finish the race has relatively little importance to me.

Ok, with that most important piece out of the way, let’s get to the race report & lessons learned.

The first 23 miles were good; on schedule and while I felt a little overtrained I was still confident in my ability. I worked running downhill in my training a bunch this last year and it paid off.

At about mile 24 I started to cramp and fade due to not eating enough and not taking in electrolytes. At mile 25 I found a total angel at Treeline (one of the crew stations) who gave me a ziploc baggie full of salt tabs. It saved my ass, but it would take a while for the salt to absorb, so by mile 26 or so I was completely cramped up on the side of the trail, unable to move my legs for about 5 full minutes.

The cramps were unlike anything I’d experienced before in my life; completely incapacitating and extraordinarily painful. Runners going by asked if I needed help, but there wasn’t anything they (or I) could do.

After 5 minutes I was able to start taking tiny staggering steps, which eventually led to a shuffle. It was a struggle and a fight to move and not quit, and it took a good hour or so until the cramps finally released, and by that time I thought I was out of the race and would miss the time cut off at mile 40.

About mile 35 I started to be able to walk, and by mile 36 I could shuffle. At mile 37 I passed a Marine on the trail, he was staggering with hip issues. Those guys are tough. We talked briefly and he convinced me if I hustled I could actually make the time cut off at mile 40.

I thought of the folks who supported me throughout not just the race but the previous year of training, and I didn’t want to let them down with anything less than my best efforts. Mostly I thought of my wife Lee, and how much of her time she devotes to supporting me train, making it possible for me to attempt this race. I can’t claim that what I did next came entirely from me; knowing Lee was waiting for me and counting on me to hustle provided most of my inspiration.

I rallied (the first of 3), I ate the pain like I used to in the old days, and I got out of the 40 mile station (Twin Lakes) with a roaring crowd and 15 minutes to spare. While you may think of this as solely the efforts of one runner, none of us does this alone. Having a supportive community allows you to be better than you think you are (one of the trademark phrases of Leadville is, “You are better than you think you are and you can do more than you think you can.”)

The cramps at mile 26 seemed like they added 40 miles of running effort to my legs, so I was stoked about pushing through the next section.

From Twin Lakes I had a 3,000′ climb in 5 miles up to Hope Pass. Last year I held about a 36 minute/mile pace going up to Hope (not a typo, it’s hard climbing at altitude.) Fired up from seeing Lee and my friend Kevin Montford at Twin lakes, for the second of my 3 rallies, this year I held a 16 minute/mile pace going up to Hope Pass. Charging hard and as my good friend CR would say, proud.

I stormed over Hope Pass and had to move & shake 3,000′ back down to Winfield. I passed a bunch of folks who had given up making the time cut and I got to Winfield with 10 minutes to spare. Blasted in and out of there four minutes before cut off and had to rally for the third time to get back up & over Hope Pass and run down the other side back to Twin Lakes.

I was fading but not slacking. I went as hard as I could, passed another bunch of folks who just gave up trying, and when I came in to Twin Lakes (mile 60) and missed the time cutoff by 2 minutes, I was totally OK with it. I had given it everything I had.

Now, lessons learned:

First, 30 miles a week training is probably the minimum for me to have a good race. Aside from the major cramping issue I had between miles 23 and 35 I felt like I’d run enough to hit the sub-25 hour mark.

Before next year’s race I’m aiming to run at least a 50 mile race and to increase my weekly miles to between 40 & 50.

Second, nutrition. I tried to go totally Paleo and it was a disaster. The burritos I made (Paleo turmeric wraps with avocado, sweet potato, and bacon) tasted really good before I ran but the thought of them as I came into the first station was revolting, so I didn’t eat. That was the first in a series of bad moves that left me with full leg cramps (calves, quads, hamstrings, and a particularly tender muscle high on the inner thigh that I didn’t know I had) at about mile 26.

Second (b), electrolytes/salt/pills & powders. I used those last year (2013) and didn’t realize how much they helped. I just thought taking them was a pain in the ass and it didn’t make a difference because I was naturally awesome. I’m not, the pain in the ass was worth it, and I won’t neglect that aspect again.

Third, race crew is mission critical and often overlooked. Lee crewed for me this year (and last year), and without her help in picking up on everything from fine grain details like where warm clothes should be placed to big picture ideas such as making a total change to how we’d handle nutrition on the fly when it became obvious that my plan wouldn’t work, she’s a total star. Without her support during the race or in the 12 months before it, I flat out wouldn’t be able to do this.

That wraps up most of the race.

The final piece is the idea of facing the unknown. Most of the things we do on a daily basis involve “knowns”, from how long it takes to drive to work to when you’ll eat to how hard your workout will be. Those of you out on the sharp end live with mortal unknowns all the time, and running a trail race pales in comparison, but for most of us we rarely face the unknown.

What do I mean when I say “the unknown”? Aside from the obvious (and unknowable), I’m referring to how much pain we can take, how long we can endure, what we’ll do when we’re faced with an easy fail or a hard victory, how we behave when we’re under pressure, how we treat others when we’re hurting, and to what lengths we’re willing to go to accomplish a goal.

They’re unknowns because there’s no way to test them under anything other than “real” conditions. We can lay on the couch or sit at the coffee shop or dream in the shower about what might be, but the only way to pull back the curtain is to, in finest cliched fashion, step into the fucking arena.

Facing those unknowns is not necessary to stay alive in today’s world, but for those of us who hear the call, regularly seeking them out and peering into the void is critical to living.

Cheers! NFH

Bare chested, cold, running up overgrown single track at 8,000 feet on a mountainside in Colorado. Teardrops of hail hammer down through an aspen forest as the cloud gods grumble overhead. No sunlight peaks through, the wilds are draped only in cold grey light.

Not comfortable yet comforting, not pleasant yet still the quest for effort draws me in. It’s a slow grind, not a fast sprint. There is no roaring crowd, no medal at the end, no instant gratification, only the knowledge that repetition of effort produces more ability to work.

It’s simple work, clean and pure and harsh and uncomfortable. I didn’t do enough of this last year, and that lack of effort was on public display at mile 75 of the Leadville 100. I felt lucky to miss the time cut off then, it saved me from the indignity of quitting.

Scrabbling up into the van I was living in, barely aware of the helping shoves from my wife, half falling half rolling into the bed in the back, I cramped and creaked and swore and gibbered at shadows. One thing then was clear. I wasn’t doing this again. It was too much, it was a stupid test, it hurt and it sucked and it was screamingly indifferent that I had failed.

It took two days to come to my senses and two months before I could run again, but I knew in those first 24 hours what I had to do. I knew I couldn’t walk away from a failure like that, couldn’t go for the next 40 years of my life knowing that I’d made a half hearted effort and failed. I didn’t want to commit to another year of running, but my ethics left me no choice. I would return.

We seek out pure experiences as a method of reset, of detoxification. We each pursue purity in our own way; yoga, CrossFit, floating, triathlons, whatever. For me that purity has come most easily (although that’s a false & hellish trap of a word) through running.

Running for me has always been epitomized by a quote from an old Navy recruiting video, “There’s nothing quite like running to make a man reach deep down inside himself and see what he’s made of.” Written in the dying gasps of the sexist ’80s, the lack of equality is for me overshadowed by the verity of the statement rooted in my own experience.

I won’t debate which sport is the hardest or the most pure or worthwhile, I’d rather you and I agree that maximum physical effort of some sort is worth far more than any tangible prize we may win.

That’s what running Leadville is about for me. It’s not a question of crossing the line in front of everybody else, or even anybody else. It’s not a question of making a certain time or not. It’s not even a question of finishing the race. It’s a question of preparation; did you meet your goal on every day of training, did you rest when you needed to, did you eat right, did you make the right effort at the right time for the right reason no matter the external factors that could have dissuaded you?

If you did all those things, if you put in all your able effort on time, every time, the race is immaterial, merely the peak of an iceberg submerged 99%. Sure, it’s the part that people see, it’s how you’re evaluated in the public realm, but it’s not the part that matters.

That part, that submerged and unseen, unappreciated, unsung piece, (and for not much longer with the advent of a thousand electronic tracking devices, from watches to phones to wristbands) is what matters.

The public culmination of that preparation comes fast upon us. The Leadville 100 starts the morning of August 16th of this year, and you’re welcome to follow the progress of any racer participating. If you watch, as you watch, as you see the checkpoints ticked off one by one, from Turquoise Lake to Fish Hatchery, all the way over the Pass and back, remember, this is just the tip of the iceberg, the least piece visible and understandable to an outsider.

The question may then echo in your own mind; have I done enough in own training? My unseen and unknown friend, the answer eagerly awaits you.

Train hard! NFH

Just attempted the Leadville 100. It’s 100 miles all above 9,000′, climbs to 12,500 at the highest. It’s got single track, dirt roads, and paved highway. I got to mile 75 and missed the time cutoff so was pulled from the race, but at that point I was happy; I was in a fair amount of pain and hypothermic. It’s the first time I’ve been in that much pain or been that cold since I was 18, and while it was a failure from a finishing standpoint I’m OK with it. I gave it my best (I usually quit long before that) and that day my best wasn’t good enough.

Long term I’m aiming to go back and win, luckily for me there’s a LOT to improve upon.

This was my first race over 13.1 miles, so I picked up a bunch of new experience, broken down here into weak points, strong points, and points of consideration:

WEAK:

Downwhill speed: I need to work a TON on my downhill speed. For every person I passed going uphill, 3 to 5 people passed me on the downhill sections. This is a combo of technique and strength; it ain’t magic, just something to work on. If you have any tips I’m open to hearing ’em.

Hiking speed: Lots of people passed me while we were both walking. My slow shuffle/run speed is about the same as many folks’ fast hike. I had no idea there would be that much “walking” in a “run” so was completely unprepared for it.

Gear prep: I had planned out the race on the assumption that most of the time I would run a 10:30 pace. Totally unreasonable, and because of this I didn’t prepare my drop bags (bags that go at the various aid stations along the route) properly. At the midway point I saw I hadn’t thought to resupply myself with my electrolyte pills in the bag so marched the next 10 miles (over Hope Pass, from 9k up to 12.5k and back down) with no electrolytes. Probably wasn’t a huge factor (I never bonked or felt totally out of it until the last section, 15 miles later), but it was definitely an example of piss poor preparation.

Preparation in general: This was a huge lesson that finally got hammered home for me. I’ve lived for a long time now without really worrying about prepping for anything; it’s always seemed to me to be a waste of time and more effort than it was worth. For most of life you can get away with that attitude and method, especially if you’re confident and have a decent experience base. For the hard stuff it’s a stupid method, and I found that out the best way, which was by hard experience. The last leg, between miles 70 and 75, I was lucky I didn’t go down hard with hypothermia. I was lucky that Lee marched out into the night to find me, got me into a car and then to a warming station ASAP. Without her effort I won’t get melodramatic and say I would’ve died, because I was on a highway and someone would’ve stopped if they’d seen me go down, but I was damn lucky. I should’ve stuffed a warmie, hat and gloves into all of the drop bags “just in case” along with double rations of everything else.

STRONG:

Uphill: Uphill work has always been good for me. It’s straight hard work and I’m a light guy with strong lungs and stringy legs; I was built to go uphill fast.

Mental game: While I went out a little faster than planned (9:15 miles vs 10:30) I don’t think that had much to do with my ultimate failure. I was super conscious the whole time of the effort I was putting in and was also alert to “down” periods, fighting back with basic refrains like “I can do this” and counting 10 steps at a time over and over. And over.

Nutrition: With no experience to base on I was a little worried about this, but advice from Dave, Jelani, Kurt, and Nell kept me out of trouble. I initially wanted to go strict Paleo, but I abandoned that plan in the face of wisdom and went with Hammer Nutrition Perpeteum, Endurolytes, Endurance Aminos, and Anti-Fatigue caps. That was my food outside of aid stations, and then I gobbled fruits, ramen, potatoes, and Gatorade-like products while in the stations. No problems with energy flagging until the last station, no problems with bonking, I felt good and fueled up the whole time. I saw plenty of white-faced people slumped on the side of the trail (calm down, I checked with ’em before moving on) as well as dudes just 1,000 yard staring in the aid stations, so I either got lucky or my nutrition plan worked.

POINTS OF CONSIDERATION:

Clothing and equipment: I wore shorts and a t‑shirt until mile 40, when I added a trucker’s hat to keep the sun off my face. I used the Ultimate Direction AK vest on the advice of Jelani and really liked it. I wore Altra Samson shoes and was happy with those. I used a BD headlamp that worked really well, and BD trekking Z poles that saved my legs from considerable damage. Other than a small chafing issue with the headlamp resting on my ears and a five minute chafe in the lining of my shorts I had no gear problems.

Shoulda coulda woulda: “If only coach had put me in…” Thinking back on it, if I’d had the foresight to stash a warmie with hat and gloves at all the aid stations I might have been able to finish. I didn’t, and it’s nowhere near a certainty; by the time they cut the timing chip off my wrist I was really thankful for the excuse to quit; I was cold and hurting.

Training: The training I did was REALLY low volume: 3 workouts a week, one of which was a “long run”, usually 7–12 miles over rough terrain, one was a set of intervals, anything from 40–1200 yard repeats, and one was a weightlifting sessions, either deadlifts or squats. The longest training run I did was the Rim-Rim-Rim, at about 34 miles. This next year I can see that I need to include at least one more 20+ mile run per week as well as including lots of downhill speed work plus working on fast walking. If my weekly mileage total before was under 20 I still don’t see a reason to go beyond 50 miles a week.

Post race pain: A week later I’m hurting and I’ve done some damage to my right knee and left ankle, but it doesn’t seem that anything I did is a long term problem.

High tech recovery: I was introduced to Norma-tec pressure boots by Kevin Montford, they’re toe-to-hip compression boots that are supposed to flush out fluids from your legs through peristaltic compression. They felt good while they were working and my legs felt REALLY good after using them before the race. I used them post-race but my legs were so painful I don’t think anything would’ve made a difference except a shot of morphine. If I can get my hands on them I’ll use ’em for the next year as recovery aids. At $1,700 for a pair, Paleo Treats is going to have to have a few banner months in order to support its sole sponsored athlete. 🙂

The running tribe: The running “people” were all super nice and considerate, I didn’t get mad-dogged at all like has happened in almost every other sport I’ve been involved in, and I’ve never been in a race like this one where it didn’t matter how many people passed you, it was totally based on time and personal effort. I really dug that.

Am looking forward to more longer distance pushes in the future.

Living off the ‘net: Finally, I spent just over three weeks living in a van up at elevation in Colorado as prep and recovery time for this race. I turned my phone on when I wanted to reach out, and other than that stayed off of the internet. It was just as incredible as I thought it would be, and has really caused me to re-orient and evaluate how I spend my time, whether I’m at home or on the road. I’m still not “anti-technology”, just had a good reference point with which to evaluate my former living pattern.

Thanks for all your help and support throughout this, I had good “conversations” with many of you in my head on the trail.

Cheers,

NFH

Ed note: This is a guest post by my good friend CR, it was his response to a letter.

You’re 46ish, yes?  How are you holding up physically?

Yes, I think I’m 46. I’m kind of hesitant to state an age any more, because I feel like I should start acting that age at some point, and that seems limiting. I like answering with whatever age I feel that I am for that day. Sometimes like I’m 37, and sometimes like I guess I’ll feel at 72.

That said, I’m seeing guys absolutely crush it in their late 50’s and 60’s. Ron J (Ron-bo), Teton ranger skied last year at the World XC races. Renny J is still going really long and really hard in the Tetons, and just went back to guiding for Exum and to ski patrolling at Jackson Hole, after leaving both those professions for a career in the NPS, which he retired from.

My knees hurt sometimes and my back gets tight. I had a shoulder problem earlier this year, but found that if I just keep pushing myself up to the point of pain, making myself do pushups, big arm swings with weights, and pullups, that the shoulder totally loosened up and is becoming strong again.

I’m really liking Barleans Fish Oil, high dose Key Lime flavor. MR turned me on to it. I also think Glucosamine really helps me.

What are you doing for conditioning?

When I got the dog I went away from CF. Now I basically just go out and try to cover ground. Either XC skiing, mtn running, hiking, or working outside.  Overseas, I’m rowing, skipping rope, box jumps, lots of body weight stuff (pullups, pushups, squats) but trying to make it more fun and challenging too. Jumping onto boxes with one foot and having to balance one footed while standing up. Jumping onto boxes backwards. Jumping longer distances and landing on a box. KB swings where the bell has to do a rotation and be caught with the other hand on every throw.

I guess I’m just tired of doing straight, boring strength work. It’s so much more helpful to have some kind of game to play or activity that takes some coordination and skill. I was way into standing on a balance board and doing goblet squats, or tossing a med ball, etc.

I’d also do a self made obstacle course, free running thing within the compound. Climbing walls, jumping gaps, running the tops of barriers, etc. 30 or 40 min of that was good. Other times I’d just run laps outside, usually a fast paced lap, followed by a recovery lap.

Started playing ping pong again on this last trip and it was super helpful for hand eye coordination and mushin stuff while under pressure. Also really good to think through tactics while playing and allow the other guy space to make mistakes.

Do you follow a program or are you doing a “salad bar”?

I’m not following a program. I think programming (especially if set by other people), can be great, because it forces you to work on your weakness.

If you are following a program, what is it?

Guys at work are doing GymJones, Mtn Athlete, Tactical Athlete, CF, etc.

It’s interesting though, I’ll go into the mtns with MR and he’ll have been training CF consistently and I’ll have zero issues moving with him, so I think my lifestyle is working for me.

As you have aged, how has that effected your capacities?

I don’t run as fast as I used to, and I’m not as strong as I used to be (as if I ever was), but my head is much stronger. I don’t get nearly as excited as I used to. I’ve seen so much more now and it’s much easier to use a past experience to make a good decision for what I’m currently facing. Whether that’s winning a race. Performing near my max heart rate. Backing out of a bad situation. Violently moving into a situation.

Interesting to me how LAPD SWAT always has a number of guys in their late 40’s to late 50’s. Those are the guys that everyone looks to when things get hairy. Those are the guys that typically stay icy calm when it gets exciting and steady the rest of the crew.

If your capacities have changed, how have you adapted your training to address those changes?

I have to play smarter now. Less emotion more brain, or as one friend described himself “I’m less berserker now, more sniper.”

When I’m training physically, I listen to my body more. Yes, it’s still important to push, but also to rest and SUPER IMPORTANT not to injure yourself while training. I can push through the pain, but if I get injured then I’m done working/training for a bit. NH, super athlete and probably 10 years younger, is only working out two days in a row before taking a rest day and is still seeing great growth and no injury.

As you have matured and gained more experience, do you feel that things have slowed down for you compared to a younger CR or when compared to younger operators?

I have less nervous energy now. I can focus for longer periods of time and see bigger projects through to completion. That energy feels a bit slower, and not as excited or agitated, but it lets me get a lot more done. I’m really focused on systems now and trying to do things the same way. Always checking my weapons right before I get in the vehicle and making absolutely positive there’s a round in the chamber, sights are on, lights are working, secondary is immediately available and not under a shirt, etc.

I sat up front in a helo the other night and watched the pilots working the cockpit. Copilot had this really interesting way of pointing his hand at each gauge that he was evaluating. It was almost as if his hand would help him hold his attention on that gauge until he was sure that he had looked and evaluated what the gauge was telling him, then he would move his hand, and point at the next gauge and evaluate that information. Slow and methodical, but not missing anything, and not just quickly looking for a gauge in the red.

I feel that going on patrol, whether in a cop car or in Baghdad, is similar and that going through your gear and making sure everything is just how you want it, before the fight starts, is HUGELY helpful. Paying attention to those little details and knowing that everything is right in your world really helps when it turns to shit. Knowing that your radio is on the right freq. Having ZERO doubt that your weapon is loaded. Knowing that you have med gear with you. Knowing that you’ve trained and that you have a plan. I really think most of these battles are won far in advance, and it’s the hard training that gives you the self confidence.

Do you believe hard MetCon workouts have a positive stress-inoculant effect?

Yes. I argue with SRJ about this. He thinks there is no correlation. But if you train your mind to think through problems and to make good tactical decisions (even having to remember what set you’re on, what the fastest way is to finish the workout) that’s a habit your mind will follow when pushed. I think it’s especially helpful when doing MetCon type workouts to think about being in a gunfight or fighting for your life, so that you’re used to it when it arrives.

If so, what types are the most effective?

I think anything works, just do it fast enough that you’re pushed. I also think it’s pretty cool to work some stuff in where you have to go fast and are breathing hard, then slow down to do something accurately. 10 box jumps, and one shot with your air pistol. You miss, you owe another 10 jumps, type of stuff.

As we addressed yesterday, reps are critical, how soon before stuff starts to erode out of our CNS?

It feels to me like it starts to go after a week or two. But just as importantly, or maybe more, how long before your self confidence starts to flag? There is a huge part to this about feeling like you deserve to win. Like you’ve been working harder than anyone else and that you totally trust your skills, your strength, your calmness under pressure. Not to say that will automatically let you win, but it will make your decision making easier and will free up your brain to focus on other things, not just drawing a weapon, or getting a light on someone, or reloading, or talking on a radio.

SRJ draws his pistol ten times every time he puts his uniform on. He’s been doing that for years, and he has the fastest consistent pistol draw that I’ve yet seen. Most of the guys that I think are really on their game, dry fire every day or two. Ten minutes a day of working through basic weapon manipulation stuff makes a gigantic difference. That daily handling of your tools makes you extremely comfortable. Watch Act of Valor and slow the scenes down to see the weapon handling. It’s obvious that they carry rifles ALL THE TIME.

How often does one have to train to maintain that sharp edge?  Once every two weeks?

What do you call training? Drawing your pistol ten times before you go out on the street would seem to count. Doing a CF workout when you are thinking about chasing a dude down would seem to count. Running scenarios with a partner while on patrol would count. White boarding a room entry, or using a sand table to talk through perimeters would count. Harder training gives you self confidence about solving problems. You ultimately want your training to be harder than what you’ll encounter in real life. Look through the incidents that your organization is dealing with and draw from those.

The better groups are working almost every day and they get very very proficient at what they’re doing. If you’re not working like that, then you need to be training. Do something every few days, even if it’s only for 30 min. Have one guy give a 30 min presentation on self aid in the field. How do you stop bleeding from a bullet wound, on yourself. Practice an officer shot on entry, and work through the scenario of what you’re going to do. It only takes 30 min but it’s time so well spent. This is part of what a leader does, to be the inspiration for the team. Guys will whine and moan, but they will be FAR better for the work.

Do you play video games?  If so, what and why?

I don’t play video games. LOTS of the boys do, but they tell me that the games are not designed to reward good tactics, and they don’t really practice good tactics when playing. I think they might help you recognize a threat earlier, or have you think about throwing smoke, or a grenade, but that’s it. There is also no pain associated with making mistakes and I think that’s a missed learning opportunity.

Do you have any good book suggestions?

One Bullet Away, N Fick. Excellent.

Generation Kill

The Mission, The Men, and Me  Pete Blaber

Leadership and Training for the Fight — Howe (excellent training book, highly recommended).

Ten Minute Toughness (Sports psychology we’ve been using for work).

Movie suggestions?

Some okay stuff in Act of Valor. Movie was hard to follow, but good weapons handling and movement. Heard that Zero Dark Thirty is good, but haven’t seen it. Jiro Dreams of Sushi will explain everything that you need to know about being good in whatever field you choose.

Webpage suggestions?

Check out Michael Yon, and Freecabinporn.com

Give me feedback when you can.

CR

I’ve been casting about for a goal for the last year or so, something physical, something hard, something worth doing for the experience of doing it.  It began to coalesce in November as some kind of long distance running race, gained clarity on a Rim-River-Rim push at the Grand Canyon in mid-December, and was finally nailed down when I decided to run the Leadville 100 this August.

Leadville is a 100 mile race above 10,000′ out in Colorado.  It’s considered to be one of the tougher 100s to finish and if you do, is a worthwhile accomplishment.  It’s a hard race, but not impossible, and definitely meets the requirements of a physical goal.  I’m in.

I’ve trained for races before, as a swimmer, a runner, a Naval Pentathlete, and a paddleboarder.  I used to hold two-a-days as the holy grail of training, basically thinking that mo’ trainin’ is mo’ bettah.  At 35 and a couple of wins plus a couple of injuries behind me, I’m through that phase.

Some of the best advice I got (although I didn’t use it at the time) came from a crusty old Navy Masterchief named Lucky Verlinde, the coach of the US Navy Pentathlon team while I was there.  He was a huge proponent of listening to your body and not being afraid to try new things.  With only 8 months to go from 7 miles a week to the fastest possible 100 in 30 hours or less, I’m dedicating this effort to really tuning in to what my body is telling me.  This means pretty minimal mileage per week, a norm of 3 workouts a week with the occasional extra lifting session thrown in, and a TON of recovery time.  The basic set up is 1 day of tough distance (plenty of hills & elevation), 1 day of sprints/repeats, and 1 day of heavy lifting (squats, deadlifts, and cleans.)

I’ve found a local running buddy (Lauren M) who is into running enough to not be afraid to push hard, have got a good support group in the form of wife, dogs, and my local crew, and my good friend Kevin Montford out in Colorado has already signed up for the race, so I’ll have someone to chase.

Lauren and I kicked off the “official” training on Tuesday, January 15th with a 7 miler in Mission Gorge doing the Fortuna loop, and then hit 5 x 800s in the park today.  It’s begun.

Am I crazy?  We’ll see in 8 months.  In the meantime, follow along on this path of running discovery.

Cheers!

-Nik

I’ve been building my run training around hard stuff.  You know, hills, sprints, uneven terrain, even ruck runs.  It never occurred to me to add some long and flat distance in, so I was interested when Lauren brought up a Mission Bay/Fiesta Island run. 

At 8 or 9 miles it was a little longer than I’ve gone, but hell, it’s flat! I had remembered Lauren as a little slower than me on our last long run, but it wasn’t speed, she just wasn’t used to the terrain I’d been training on.

When we got on her turf I was puffing to keep up.  She is a no-shit good runner, which is a welcome and awesome surprise. We finished up the run at a slightly more than brisk pace, the natural competitiveness coming out in each of us until we were just a tick off of sprinting to the finish.  Polished off with some striders, this was an excellent re-intro to the world of flat land running.  Totally dig it!

I’ve had a couple people ask me for business advice lately, and I was taken aback by how little I know about business as I tried to come up with an answer.

It didn’t jibe with how successful Paleo Treats has been; you’d think I’d know more.   In 3 and half years we’ve grown from making batches in our kitchen and selling them at the 2009 CrossFit Games to being one of the bigger Paleo food companies in the business and selling not just throughout the U.S. but internationally on a regular basis.

As I racked my brain for what “secret formula” there is for success, I kept coming up against the basics, nothing fancy, nothing exotic, just the basics.  They are summed up in my head as the pursuit of perfection combined with plenty of joyous work and just enough luck to get you over the occasional hump.

Whether you’re starting a business (and I recommend everyone start at least two) or starting a workout program or just trying to get through the holidays without eating every last cookie and piece of cake shoved into your face, success seems to come from those three things.

First, the pursuit of perfection.  It’s not whether or not you achieve it, but the pursuit itself that’s important.  Aside from the obvious benefit of coming up with top quality products, it draws others into your circle who are following similar goals, who walk similar paths, and that leads to joyous work (more on that later.)  The old saying that birds of a feather flock together is just as true of folks seeking perfection as it is a bevy of quail.  It’s a hard road, the path to perfection, and there are an awful lot of exits you can take.  It’s much easier to stay the course if you’re surrounded by good friends with the same intentions, and if you just put your head down and slog it out with them at your side you’ll find that you hit what you thought were impossible goals and only notice it when you’re a few miles beyond where you thought you’d ever be.

One of my favorite stories about this can be found here.

In the case of Paleo Treats we’re after perfection in a Paleo dessert.  We haven’t found it yet, at least not in any one dessert, although our Mustang Bar comes pretty close; I’ve heard it referred to as a “Paleo-gasm” (thanks Heidi F.)  Still, it’s the pursuit that matters, and it shows up every time we see someone take a bite of a Paleo Treats sample; they always seem to expect mediocrity and are so surprised and stoked to find that the people that made this treat actually give a shit about taste AND health.

The second key to success is plenty of joyous work.  I don’t mean by this that you love everything you do; some tasks just suck and there’s no way around it.  What I’m talking about is probably best shown in an old Gary Larson Far Side cartoon.  It’s a picture of a guy wheeling a heavy wheelbarrow up a steep path in Hell.  It’s hot, the wheelbarrow is loaded with bricks, he’s scrawny and sweating, everyone around him is miserable.  Incredibly, he’s whistling away, shown so cleverly in just a few musical notes and his pursed lips.  The Devil is looking on from the side of the path, and he turns and says to his minion, “We’re just not getting to that guy.”  Whatever else that guy did to get to the hot place, he understood the value of joyous work, of being able to be stoked with whatever you’re doing, whether it sucks or not.

We take that joy pretty seriously at Paleo Treats, so whether we’re out hustling to sell cookies at a sample sale or rocking out newsletters or just shipping out box after box, we remember that joy is what YOU make, not the job you’re doing, and if we’re stoked to be doing whatever it is we’re doing that somehow seems to translate pretty consistently into success.  I think that joy comes through every time we talk to folks, and maybe that’s why I get asked for business advice; folks want to know not just the secret of success, but the way to make that success be so much fun.

The final ingredient to success is a tiny helping of random luck.  Sometimes it’s bad luck, and you learn some huge and awesome and valuable lesson by zigging when you should have zagged.  Mostly though, it’s just a little good luck; knowing the right person, being in the right place at the right time, or just plain getting lucky.  This last “lucky” piece isn’t something you have control over, although it seems that the more joyfully and the harder we work, the luckier we get.

Still, there’s that undeniable element of luck in every venture; the weather window that opens up at just the right time, the Oprah show that stumbles upon the Paleo diet right after we made a huge batch, the passing acquaintance from years ago you run into at the airport who is perfectly positioned to give you a boost right when you need it, the phenomenally gifted employees you hire who are better than you could have asked for had you designed their lives yourself.

So that’s it: The pursuit of perfection, joyous work, and enough luck to get you over the humps.

That wraps it up for my holiday wisdom, feel free to drop us a line via email or phone.

Cheers,

NFH

Paleo Treats

If you think you’re not average, you’re either an idiot or you’re right. You’re probably (and I say this with all scientific sincerity) an idiot.

I spent most of my life thinking I was above average. Hell, I was. I was a Navy SEAL by the time I was 20. I sailed 5,000 miles of open ocean in a 22 ft boat by the time I was 24. I had traveled to 30 odd countries by 25, including one that was a no-travel zone for Americans. By 27 I had lived and worked in a war zone, at 28 I owned 3 properties in 3 states including a drop dead beautiful piece of land in Northern New Mexico, at 29 I owned a t‑shirt company with shirts in 12 Nordstrom stores and was on a rapid rise to the top and by 31 I was bankrupt. It was a hell of a ride.

Then came this fucking slump when I realized that despite my good (not my best, because I wasn’t making them) efforts, unless I stopped living in the past and got back down into the thick of it where the blood and sweat and bile and hellacious effort was, I was going to be average for the rest of my life. An average athlete. An average husband. An average thinker. An average man.

Does this sound familiar? It must, I see you everywhere, including in the mirror. I mean, there you are in the coffee shop, or the ice cream store, or the Whole Foods, or hell, the Vons. I can see you’re average in the way you walk, the way you shop, the way you spend, the way you and your girlfriend dress. I’m not trying to be mean, it’s just…well, it’s just the law of damn averages.

You probably have some kick ass backstory too, but now here we sit, lounging back on slowly sagging laurels, seeing just how easy it is to achieve a comfortable lifestyle and seemingly inexorably getting sucked into the mundane fucking existence we spent the first 30 years of life making fun of. Ironic, eh?

The hell of it is, the path to beyond average isn’t complicated, it’s just hard, and more often than not these days I’m just not up for hard. I’ll get all fired up about rowing the Channel Islands or trail running high peaks or climbing hard or surfing harder, but then morning comes and I go for an easy run, or work through a sweaty but not strenuous kettle bell workout.

I’ll meet guys in the street I used to know and they remember me as someone I no longer am, and while my ego is temporarily soothed by their remembrances, I know that deep down I’m not that same fire breathing motherfucker.

Sure, occasionally I’ll hang out with better men than me, and it’s not like I’ve turned into a fat pussy. I can still charge hard, jump off cliffs, leap chasms, lift heavy, and shoot straight. It’s just that those things no longer turn me on like they used to and I’m not sure what will. And that’s the hell of it, because here I am, knowing just how much potential I have and for lack of action and clear direction it’s being pissed away in Facebook and walks around the block with my dog.

I know what turns my brain on, and that’s discovering or creating new ideas and then implementing them, but even then it’s only a half-way high, nothing like the old workouts where I’d come busting up from the deeps with lungs burning, the world closing in on me and the clock ticking away, launching out of the water in front of the pack.

Maybe I need to find a tribe again. I’ve been lost and solo too long, a man without a group, without a source to check my actions by. Really, without a clear purpose or goal.

Is that then what is missing from our lives, we lost souls? A simple purpose, a clean goal? Knowing the effort that goes into that and the joy in the effort I know it must be right. There is almost too much wisdom in the idea that the journey is the destination. The only question left is, do I still have what it takes to load up for that journey, and to move above average?

Running hard up a steep hill, no shirt on, sweat and saliva fly off an unkempt beard, breath hard and ragged and heavy. We pass a blind man going up, his stick held in front of him as he slowly climbs. The freeway roars to our right, impermanent houses stand silent to our left. We climb past well-kept gardens and aim for a gleaming work truck with wheels cramped to the curb, a white metal cloud of guidance. It falls away off our right shoulder. 

The road curves, the final stretch in sight. We press harder, driving our soles into the concrete, running out of oxygen, running up our physical debt, promising later payment if only we can please keep going, desperate to quit, unable to stop. The finish is ahead and the top flattens out inviting us to slow and rest. The ease is a trap for the weak, for the unprepared, the unwilling. We charge past. Forcing our legs to move, we ignore our acid muscles, we drive with our minds ourselves on to the end.

Panting, we finish. Hands in the air, gut muscles clenching with beginning dry heaves, lungs throbbing, throat raw, we wander in small circles at the top. The manicured grass, the clean picket fence, the cracked concrete road all pass in dizzying order. We turn and walk down. Three more attempts at greatness call us.